


Masquerade

by crankyfractal (upquarkAO3), sirsable



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Anal Sex, Anonymous Sex, Art, Art embedded in Ch2, Art in Ch1, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Identity Reveal, Intercrural Sex, M/M, MCU Kink Bang 2019, Masks, Parlour games, Period Piece, Pet Names, Please do not repost art or fic, Rough Sex, Semi-Anonymous Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Shameless Smut, Top Steve Rogers, character cameos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 05:46:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18204326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/upquarkAO3/pseuds/crankyfractal, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sirsable/pseuds/sirsable
Summary: Lord Bucky Barnes is tired of the dull repetition of the London social season. Every year, it's political games and stuffy suits and niceties so stiff it makes histeethhurt. But this year is different. This year, he runs into a handsome stranger at a masked ball, and there's a chemistry there that neither can deny. Finally, some excitement in his life.Written for the MCU Kink Bang 2019. Art is embedded!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> There are a few terms that may help when reading this! The first is **“season”** , which here refers to the social season in London, where most rich, influential, and landed (but mostly peerage) got together and mingled and hoped to make connections, alliances, and marriages amongst each other. The second is **“Il Capitano”** , who is a stock character in the Italian _commedia dell’arte_ , a specialized type of theater known for the use of masks to identify any of several stock characters. _Il Capitano_ is a braggart who, if he is to be believed, has slain a hundred men and lain with a hundred women, but always screams and hides when danger is afoot. He’s characterized by a mask with an exaggerated and rather phallic nose, and always dresses in some parody of a military uniform from whichever country seems more relevant to the play. Third is **“Columbina”** , another character from _commedia dell’arte_ whose mask is probably one of the first you think of when someone says “masquerade.” Columbina is a woman, often sought-after by more than one person (including Il Capitano), and the name itself means “dove.”
> 
> Written for the MCU Kink Bang 2019, with special thanks to [coldwinterrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldwinterrose/) for the amazing beta reading!

  


  
  


He thought, back when he was young and reckless and bought into the idea of romance, that attending the social season would be fun. Exciting, even. After all, he’d be there as a young bachelor with the promise of a sizable estate in his future. Maybe he would find his soulmate, or love, or...

He was wrong.

Every party and soiree, every debut and ball, Bucky is watched like a fat mouse in a room full of hawks. It’s unsettling, is what it is, with all the eligible young men and women eyeing him not so much as a potential partner but as a stepping stone in society. Nearing thirty and still not married, he’s considered ripe for the taking and he damn well knows it, but do they need to be so obvious about hunting him? At least _this_ season is enlivened by the latest trend of masquerade parties. Covering up his face will probably afford him some measure of protection, and it might even make his interactions with his peers more genuine. A thin hope, perhaps, but one he clings to. If nothing else, it’ll make it easier to escape if needs be.

Natasha is one of the very few his age that he can tolerate for more than an hour, and she’s a wonderful companion to have. There had been the usual run of gossip when two unmarried people spend so much time together in public. But when the season slipped by and no further news, proper or otherwise, came of it, everyone accepted that friendship with the younger Lord Barnes was just another on the long list of Lady Romanoff’s eccentricities. So she’s a good friend, and occasionally a decent social shield at parties, but her influence in keeping others away only goes so far. Hence, the excellent news of being allowed to wear masks.

“You’re going to regret this choice,” Natasha sing-songs as Bucky ties the ribbon behind his head. The carriage they’re in jolts over a bump, making him curse under his breath as he repositions his hands. He should have tied the damn thing before they left, but it’s too late now.

“I don’t see the reason to invest more in order to impress people I’m actually attempting to make go away,” he complains. The ribbon slips, and Natasha swoops in to save him.

“Because if you’d gone to the craftsman I suggested, you’d have something that fit you as a second skin. A pinch of spirit gum and you wouldn’t have to bother with all these ribbons. _Think_ , James. Most of the guests will take off their masks as soon as they’re able, to see and be seen. Hosts will count on it, and the parties will take hours. Do you truly want to fiddle with this oversized monstrosity that long? As soon as you take it off, you’ve given away the game and you’ll be swamped again.” She finishes with a few pins to keep the ribbons in place. “I’ll be saying ‘I told you so’ before the end of the season,” she predicts. “Now escort me in so we can get this over with.”

Bucky sighs and climbs out of the carriage, then turns to offer his hand to help Natasha down. Not that she needs it, but it’s the spirit of the gesture. She takes his proffered arm lightly and generously pretends that she’s not the one leading them into the Pym residence.

She vanishes as soon as they greet their hosts, abandoning Bucky to his fate with only a cheeky admonishment to “Play nice.” Frankly, he doesn’t want to ‘play’ at all, but saying as much will do him no good. He’d only waste his breath, and there are better things to do. Things like dodging scheming aunties and their delicate charges, using every tactic he knows to turn them down without ever saying ‘no.’  
He manages to talk himself out of two dances before he hears a familiar, boisterous laugh, and his heart sinks. Inclining his head to the latest chaperone talking his ear off, he performs a quick scan of the room, hoping against hope… but no, he recognizes her now, in a bright fuchsia mask edged in lace: Miss Janice Yanizeski, the bane of his existence for the last two seasons.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong about her. In fact, in other circumstances they might even have been friends. But for reasons he has yet to grasp, she set her cap for him after the first time they met and has been persistent in her attentions ever since. The worst of it is that she isn’t pitiable as most other debutantes, either, who pine or sulk when their chosen are not there. She’s vivacious and gracious even when he manages to slip away, and she’s happy to socialize among others. She doesn’t go out of her way to attend all the parties he does, nor does she seem disappointed if he’s not there. By Natasha’s accounts, she has some kind of hierarchy of people she’s hoping to attach herself to, and he just happens to be somewhere at the top of it. 

And, to make things worse, she’s smart. He’s pretty sure she can recognize him by his _gait_. If he gets roped into talking with her for any amount of time, she’s bound to recognize him—he should have chosen a full mask that would disguise his voice as well, but it’s too late now. No, _now_ his only option is to run. 

But herein lies his dilemma: it’s much too early to leave the party without being exceedingly rude, but attempting to retreat to the garden from across the damn ballroom will definitely attract attention. He scans the room, hoping for a more convenient option to present itself, but the sound of Janice’s cheerful chatter forces his hand. As much as he’s loathe to give some poor thing the wrong impression about his intent, his only real escape is to get himself lost in the veritable sea of dancers. He picks the first wallflower he sets his eyes on, walks up, bows, and asks for the next dance. The person he’s picked is a tall man in navy blue, his mask in deep red and edged with white, a tricorne hat and white ostrich feather adding to the garishness of it all. Though the mask has been modified, the design is clever enough that Bucky still recognizes the character as _Il Capitano_ , the roguish braggart of the stage. He’s not much like his character, though, given the way he simply stands there and gapes at Bucky. Of course—they’re strangers, unintroduced as far as either of them knows, and this is rather forward on Bucky’s part. 

“I need saving,” Bucky mutters, just loud enough for the other man to hear. “Just one dance. Please.”

That’s apparently the right thing to say, because the man bows back and accepts Bucky’s arm, letting him lead them both to the floor just in time for the start of the next number. 

“Who or what am I saving you from?” the man murmurs as they reach the middle of the floor. 

Bucky realizes, belatedly, that his chosen partner is attractive. From what he can observe of him, anyway. Broad shoulders that fill out his coat admirably, trim waist, square jaw. His cheeks are clean-shaven and his smile boyishly charming. Bucky gives himself a mental pat on the back for his excellent choice, conscious or not.

“I don’t know if I should tell you. How do I know you won’t go wagging your tongue to the rest of society?”

“If you cared what my tongue did, you wouldn’t have approached me.”

“Perhaps I care what your tongue does, so long as it isn’t gossiping,” Bucky volleys back immediately. Oops.

His partner’s cheeks heat red, the tongue in question flicking out to wet his lips nervously. Bucky is about to disengage and apologize when his partner abruptly steps further into his hold, almost causing them to miss a step.

“Speak of my tongue any more and I shall have to use it,” he says in a low voice. Bucky shivers, goosebumps pricking his skin despite the close heat of the ballroom.

“I thought _Il Capitano_ was all words and no action?” Bucky rallies. The man’s eyes widen, but then he bites his lip and bends to put his mouth next to Bucky’s ear, growling his next words.

“Unlike my namesake, I am quite capable of following through.” He says it like a threat, like a warning, and Bucky didn’t know that was something he liked until this very moment. Or maybe it’s just this man, whoever he is.

“Is that a promise, then? I’ll be a good little Dove for you, Capitano.” He slides his right hand down lower, to the small of his partner’s back, and pulls him closer. Close enough to feel each other through their pants, to feel the other’s interest stirring. Close to enough to feel the hitch in his breath as if it’s Bucky’s own.

“You’re sure?”

“I am,” he promises, breathless. 

“Then end us near the garden doors, Little Dove, or we’ll have to dance the next set, too.”

It’s as good a motivation as any, and it forces Bucky to get creative rather quickly. He positioned them close to the middle, where it would be easy to get lost in the crowd, and by now the song is nearly over. Capitano is not a particularly good dancer on his own, he thinks, but he follows a lead well. Bucky sweeps them grandly towards the back, neatly sidestepping others on the floor and keeping time. The last few measures have his heart in his throat, unsure if he can reasonably get them close enough to the French doors that mark the entrance to the gardens. 

They’re not quite close enough by the time the song ends, but Capitano nudges him as they stand side-by-side to politely applaud the musicians’ performance. “Do you know the corner where the tea roses grow?” Capitano murmurs.

Bucky nods minutely as he offers his arm, leading his partner to the side and clearing the floor for the next dance. He catches a flicker of a smile as they bow to each other and he inclines his head—understood. It will be less suspicious if they leave separately and rendezvous later, even if it means Bucky will have to suffer another dance.

He’s lucky that it’s a short quadrille, lively enough to keep him from having to make conversation, and enough dancers leave to get refreshments after that it’s easy for him to do the same. Il Capitano’s distinctive hat is nowhere to be seen, and Bucky’s heart leaps a little thinking that he may have missed his chance. 

He forces himself to remain casual, meandering toward the tea roses. Their location is not any kind of secret; Lady Pym likes to show them off to guests in the daytime, exclaiming over her difficulties in getting them to initially take in her garden. But they’re out of the way and rather boring at night, when their splendor is greatly reduced in the darkness. It’s as good a place for a tryst as any.

He makes it there first, much to his surprise, but he didn’t realize he’d be so nervous when he got there. What if it was in his head? What if, away from the bright lights and close air and the glow of lamps, there isn’t any of the tension he knows they both felt? What if—

His thoughts cut off as Capitano appears in a bend in the path, striding toward him. “I forgot to ask if you were married. You’re not married, are you?” He’s just barely out of breath, close enough to touch by the time he finishes his sentence.

Oh good, they’re on the same page. “No. Are you—”

“Good,” the other man says firmly, and shuts Bucky up with a swift kiss. The nose of his mask gets in the way, and Bucky’s mask is cutting into his cheek a little, but dear God his captain tastes perfect, deep wine and a hint of cinnamon, and the pressure of his lips, and his tongue, just the slightest swipe, asking for permission.

Bucky remembers what he wanted to ask and pushes the other man away. He moves, releasing Bucky instantly.

“Are you spoken for?” Bucky demands.

“God, no.”

Bucky nods and launches himself back into the kiss, opening to let Capitano tasting him, tasting the other man in turn. His tongue is everything he promised—clever and wicked, never taking more than he’s invited to, but stroking in a way that tells Bucky it will be excellent applied to other places as well. And somehow that sparks some competitive part of him that wants to prove he’s just as good, so he presses back in and sucks on his tongue for just a moment, lewd, and then parts to give his lower lip a playful nibble.

“That,” Capitano gasps, “Is not something a good little dove would do.”

“Do I look like a ‘little’ dove?” Bucky kisses him again, arms around those broad shoulders to haul him close. He moans into the kiss when the other man wedges his thigh between Bucky’s legs, giving him something to grind against and letting him feel the hard line of his own erection on Bucky’s hip.

“No, I think you’re a _loud_ one. Quietly, or someone might hear you.”

Oh, and the thought of that does something to Bucky, sends a thrill through him. His soon-to-be-lover feels it—he _knows_ he does because he rumbles a laugh and adds more pressure, grinding against Bucky even harder. 

“You like that,” the captain breathes. “What else do you like?”

“I like not being toyed with,” Bucky grouses playfully. It’s hard to navigate around the bulk of both their masks, but he manages to tug the man’s cravat free enough to get at a patch of skin on his neck, the captain tilting his head obligingly to give Bucky access. He groans, the sounds traveling through his chest and straight to Bucky’s dick, already wet and threatening to chafe soon if he isn’t careful. Bucky pulls away before he can make any kind of permanent mark. No sense in fueling more gossip about either of them, no matter who this _Il Capitano_ is.

“You’re telling me _not_ to toy with you,” the other man asks seriously. All at once, his hands are at Bucky’s flies, tugging them loose and inching his shirttails from the constricting fabric. “Are you sure?”

Oh, if he’s going to play it like _that_.

“If all you want to do is talk and tease, I’ll have to arrange matters myself.” Bucky bats Capitano’s hands away and opens his own trousers, reaching in to give himself a firm, satisfying stroke, not bothering to hide his reaction to the long-awaited pressure. He does it again, shoving his trousers even lower, and it might be dark but there’s enough lamplight out here that there’s no mistaking what he’s holding in his hand. He glances up in time to see the other man lick his lips, perhaps subconsciously, and if he could see behind the mask Bucky knows where he’d be looking. And that he likes it. That makes him preen a little, and he adds a deft little twist of the wrist in case Capitano might want to take notes for later. 

But not too much later, hopefully.

He gets his wish almost immediately when he’s spun around, Capitano’s hands gripping his hips like a vise, pushing him toward one cool, vine-covered wall. He holds his hands out and braces against it instinctively, then has to stifle a moan when those strong hands haul him back, making him bend at the waist to stay upright and jut his ass out invitingly. Capitano shoves at Bucky’s trousers clumsily with one hand and skates the other under his shirt to splay across his stomach, then further up to his chest.

“Tell me if you want to stop.” His mask is cold and smooth against Bucky’s neck; makes the fine hairs stand on end.

“Don’t stop.” He shoves back more, enough to feel his soon-to-be-lover’s hardness against him, and has to hold in a whine at what he finds there. Capitano wasn’t joking about not being like his namesake—if he _hasn’t_ had quite a few sexual conquests by now, the rest of England is missing out. Hell, he might be able to _slay_ half of England with what he has.

“Tell me if you need to slow down.”

“More,” Bucky demands breathlessly. Large, warm hands are groping at his chest now, kneading the firm muscle there and tugging at his nipples in a way he hadn’t known he liked until just this very moment.

“And you’ll tell me if I do something you don’t like,” Capitano murmurs, raking his blunt nails down Bucky’s ribs and it’s startling, sharp lines of almost-pain that are just enough to electrify his skin and _dear God_ his cock hasn’t yet been touched and he’s already addicted to the sex.

“I don’t like that you’re moving so slowly,” Bucky hisses. He turns his head to glare back at him, but the hand that had been pinning his hips shoots up to grab him firmly by the chin and force him to face forward again.

“Don’t look, little dove. I’m going to take my mask off so I can taste you properly, but if you try to peek I’m afraid I’ll have to leave.” He even manages to sound truly regretful. “Are you going to be good for me?”

“Yes,” Bucky breathes. Just knowing that his paramour is behind him, face in full view and on display for everyone _but_ Bucky does something for him. Makes his breath come faster and his blood pump louder and amplifies every little movement Capitano makes behind him. He can feel the difference in pressure when he removes his hat; hear the soft thud of it landing on the ground. He can feel when he sweeps the mask off and tosses it aside. Then soft, warm lips nuzzle against his neck, pushing his hair aside to nibble at the vulnerable skin there, licking like he’s really getting the flavor of Bucky on his tongue.

Bucky moans loud enough that the man behind him _has_ to be able to feel it, and sure enough there’s a warning nip on his ear, sharp and stinging so sweetly.

“Shush, or they’ll hear us,” Capitano hisses, his hands jerking almost violently at Bucky’s pants, shoving them down his hips to expose his ass to the evening air. That just makes Bucky moan again, louder, the thought of someone rounding the corner and finding him pinned against the wall but never knowing it was _him_... He has to grit his teeth as his cock jumps at the idea.

Caught between Capitano’s hand and the cradle of his hips, Bucky rocks between them and bites his lip, but his partner seems to be waiting on a reply of some sort before he continues. Bucky struggles through the haze of frustration and anticipation—what worked before?

“Make me,” he challenges, the words falling husky and defiant from his lips. 

And it was the right thing to say because his partner jerks him tighter to his body, lifts one hand to his mouth and demands, “Open.”

Bucky opens his mouth to make some other retort, but as soon as he does two thick fingers are there, pressing on his tongue and muffling any sounds he might make. They’re rough but not violent, just deep enough to stop him without choking. He considers biting them for a moment but, no, Capitano had been so insistent that he make him stop if he disliked something that a bite like that might be taken as a sign of his displeasure when Bucky would mean it as anything but. To the contrary, if his lover stops now, Bucky might scream. So he closes his lips around the intrusion and curls his tongue around the tips, swirling and sucking, and is rewarded with a throaty growl and a dirty grind of hips. He can feel the other man struggling with his own pants, but after long moments and some muttered curses, sweet, warm flesh presses back against him, smooth and hard and—Christ—throbbing against the crease of his ass. Bucky grinds back again, eager for it, undulating his hips as best he can in this position.

“If I only had you in my bed.” His lover’s free hand returns to clasp Bucky’s cock loosely, feeling the weight of it, keeping it warm and close, fingers long and rough and so different from Bucky’s own. “We could lay together properly, then.” Fuck if that doesn’t make Bucky’s hole throb with want. An embarrassing mewling noise makes its way from his throat, making Capitano chuckle.

“You like that as well?”

Bucky has just enough freedom to nod, and he can feel the other man’s smile against his nape, followed by the whisper of a kiss.

“Alas, I have nothing tonight. We’ll have to improvise, little dove. Now, get me nice and wet,” he murmurs in Bucky’s ear, and God just the way he says it makes his mouth water, no effort needed. Then there’s a pause while Capitano pulls his hand away, and a slick noise— _he’s touching himself_ , Bucky realizes, and the urge to turn and look is stronger than ever. A hand comes down lightly on his ass, just hard enough to grab his attention, and he moans at the hot feel of his palm.

“Push those pretty legs together,” his lover orders huskily, one knee outside of Bucky’s pushing, urging him to obey, and he does. He hears a happy sigh and an admiring whisper of, “Beautiful,” that makes Bucky flush, and then the other man is sliding his hard length in to the tight channel between his thighs, brushing against his sac and the underside of his cock, hot and wet from Bucky’s own spit, _dear Lord_.

He doesn’t even realize he’s made a noise until a deep voice shushes him gently, at complete odds with the heat plastered against his back and the possessive arms wrapped around his waist. He grits his teeth and chokes off into silence, taking deep breaths while his lover strokes and gropes at his chest, hand worming up under the confines of Bucky’s dress shirt.

Finally, trembling with need, Bucky nods. Whispers, “Good,” and immediately bites back a groan and Capitano’s hand reaches down to grip his cock, gathering the precome beading at the tip and using it to ease the way. He rocks slowly against Bucky, testing perhaps, and lets out a shuddering sigh before pulling back and plunging back in, soft slap of skin on skin incongruously loud to Bucky’s ears.

Every separation of their hips leaves Bucky cold; every return burns him up with pleasure. Each push from his lover’s hips is accompanied by a gentle pump to his cock, until all at once Bucky realizes that he’s close, close, close. 

“Oh—oh, _fuck_ ,” he chokes out, and comes over Capitano’s fist, seed spurting onto the wall and dripping to the ground. His lover bites at his neck and wrings the last shocks of pleasure from him before following him over the edge, the warmth of him splashing between Bucky’s thighs and dripping down. They stay like that for a few moments, Bucky with his forehead braced against the wall, Capitano a welcome weight against his back.

Soon enough, he hears a rustle and catches a glimpse of a plain linen kerchief between his legs, and he huffs out an incredulous laugh at the sight of his paramour cleaning him up so courteously.

“What?” Capitano sounds affronted, but his ministrations remain gentle, folding over the soiled portions of fabric while he gropes clumsily. Bucky takes the cloth away and finishes the job himself while the other man peels himself away and retrieves his mask from the ground.

“You’re very polite for someone who’s just fucked a complete stranger at a party not even your own,” Bucky chuckles, holding out the kerchief. Without the hat on, he can see that his captain’s hair is dark blond, sticking up oddly from exertion and, doubtless, being caught underneath the hat still abandoned on the grass.

“Well, my mother always told me that it’s manners that separate us from animals,” Capitano tells him with a lazy grin. Bucky watches without an ounce of shame as the blond does up his pants, tucking his soft dick back into its confines and carefully tucking his shirt in neatly. He looks up when he realizes he’s still under observation, and his eyes go wide behind the mask in a way that makes Bucky think he must be blushing. “I’m sorry, do you see something that catches your interest?”

“Shy when you’re not in the moment, aren’t you?” Bucky remarks. He starts work on straightening out his own clothing, frowning when he realizes he’ll have some suspicious stains on his shirt. Well, he’ll just have to be creative with his waistcoat, then. To his surprise, Capitano’s hands join his, taking over in arranging the fabric to best cover evidence of their little indiscretion.

“Passion loosens my tongue,” Capitano says without quite looking at him. “Knowing you’ll never know me helps. I’m not half as good with words when I’m in my own skin.”

Something almost like regret pangs through Bucky at that. Not that they’ve known each other for long—barely an hour, he’s guessing, all told—but from what he’s learned of his captain, he thinks they could be good friends. Or at least good bed-mates. Then again, he’s probably right in that they’re best served keeping this vague and unattached. It could make things awkward for them elsewise, if it turns out that they can’t stand each other, or if they were to argue and have a falling out. Especially in the height of the season, every little thing is subject to gossip.

“So no pillow-talk, then?” Bucky jests.

“Perhaps next time,” Capitano replies vaguely, and Bucky can’t help the little thrill that runs through him at the implication. “My minder will miss me soon.”

“You’ve a chaperone?” That’s a bad sign. To his relief, the blond laughs.

“Not quite, but I’ve been known to disappear at events like this. Being my first in such a large venue, I’ve a friend who has expressed that she will be very put out if I don’t fill in at least a few dance cards. I’d rather not risk the scolding.”

“I think I know the type,” Bucky drawls. “By all means.” He sweeps a hand back towards the house.

Capitano hesitates after only a few steps in that direction, turning to look back at Bucky. “Perhaps I’ll see you again?”

“I certainly hope so.” He offers his most suggestive smile, chuckling when the other man subconsciously licks his lips. He makes a little shooing motion and Captiano sweeps and exaggerated bow before turning and striding back up the path.

Well, it looks like this season may be interesting after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again so much to crankyfractal for the beautiful art for the banner and in Ch2. <3 It's so lovely and elegant and it was a pleasure to work with you!
> 
> Art for this is embedded in the fic a little over halfway down and may be on the large side.

The Richards throws the largest events of the season and for once, Bucky is grateful to have received his invitation to attend. Lady Richards is almost as good at arranging parties as Lady Pym, and her brother knows so many people that their events are ridiculously large and tend to be over-the-top. Practically all of society is bound to show up, at least long enough to be seen, and Bucky has high hopes of another dalliance tonight. He’s even prepared specifically for the occasion, though no one else needs to know about that.

“You’re more eager to go to these ever since your little mystery romp,” Natasha remarks. She looks around nonchalantly while she says it, but Bucky still tenses up. She found him out in short order at Hank’s, declaring him a disaster and fixing his hair for him before allowing him to step foot back indoors. He trusts her with his life, but she hasn’t stopped teasing him over it since. On the other hand, his resplendent suit and new mask are also her doing, so he can’t be too angry.

“I haven’t seen him since Pym’s,” Bucky retorts, not bothering to contradict her at all. “I suppose we don’t know all the same people.” He’s been to a few more events, all much smaller than Pym’s, but hadn’t caught sight of his captain at any of them. It had been a slim chance in the first place, especially since some of them had been more like dinners than real parties, but Bucky would be lying if he said he hadn’t entertained some daydreams of dark corners where their features could remain obscured, hasty hands in the dark, quick and quiet before anyone can miss them. Bucky would even offer to leave first, so his captain would be at the lowest risk. 

“I don’t know why you didn’t choose the peacock one, if you’re going to preen so much.” Natasha’s exasperated voice cuts through Bucky’s wandering thoughts and makes him realize that he’s been making tiny adjustments to his attire without even paying attention. He puts his hands back down by his sides and fights the urge to touch his hair again. “It’s not like you to pick something as meek as a dove.”

Bucky shrugs in reply. He’ll pluck out his own eyes before he tells her that he chose it because of a silly nickname whispered in the dark. _Especially_ one given by his mysterious lover. He would like to keep _some_ of his dignity, after all. Natasha lets him have so precious little between them.

“You’ll give my excuses, though, won’t you?” he begs, hoping to take her attention away. It works, if only because Natasha lets it.

“If anyone deigns to notice your absence,” she agrees, patting him consolingly on the arm. The jibe actually sets Bucky’s mind at ease. She has a point, after all—out of sight, out of mind.  
  


* * *

  
  
When it’s almost halfway through the evening and he still hasn’t sighted _Il Capitano_ yet, Bucky starts to feel foolish. He can’t very well ask around, not least because he doesn’t want to draw attention to either of them. It only occurred to him about a half hour ago that in an estate of this size, it’s possible to go the entire night without running into each other. Unlikely, but possible, especially if, like Bucky, the other man has changed his appearance. Damn, maybe he should have kept his mask the same.

Perhaps he should try the drawing room. There are usually a handful of people who sneak off to play cards and smoke, and it’s possible that his captain will be among them. It will be hard to justify keeping on his mask, but he’s willing to try. 

He doesn’t go to Richards’ estate very often, perhaps twice a year at most, so it shouldn’t surprise him when he gets lost. It doesn’t stop him from feeling foolish and muttering curses under his breath while he attempts to orient himself. The door across from him must be one of the parlors, then, which means he should have turned _right_ at the pink China vase, not _left_. He sighs to himself and has just turned to go back when someone reaches out and grabs him, one gloved hand covering his mouth to cut off his surprised yell, the other solidly around his middle, yanking him back against a warm, hard body.

“Hello, little dove,” a familiar voice murmurs, laced with mischief and mirth. It takes a moment for Bucky’s brain to catch up, and then he’s torn between anger and laughter. He pushes at the hand over his mouth and turns to poke at Capitano’s broad chest.

“You _scared_ me,” Bucky hisses. It doesn’t sound as angry as he’d like, but in his defense the other man smells amazingly good this close.

“I’m sorry.” Surprisingly, he actually does look contrite, hunching his shoulders in and lowering his head to make himself smaller. “I saw you go past, and when you came back this way I couldn’t resist.”

“How could you be sure it was me?”

“You’re not exactly subtle.” Capitano raises his hand and gently strokes his fingers over the edge of Bucky’s mask, feathered to mimic the wings of a dove. “And there are some things about you I’d be hard-pressed to forget.” He steps closer and rests a hand on Bucky’s hip, then slides it back to pat him gently on the ass. Bucky has to resist the urge to preen at the compliment—he may be easy for this man, but there’s no need to remind him of that.

“You still owe me for the fright,” he says instead, still playing at being upset. 

“How shall I make it up to you, sweet one?”

“I’m very glad you asked.” Bucky moves quickly, shoving his lover backwards and into the door, which still hangs ajar. He swiftly closes it behind them, thankful that the room is already lit, albeit dimly. Bucky lunges up and Capitano is ready for him this time, bracing himself enough to catch him in a fierce kiss, Bucky’s hands already scrabbling for purchase against his clothes. The cloak is the first thing to go, falling away to puddle on the floor as Bucky advances, trampled beneath their feet. Capitano’s hat is the next victim when Bucky sweeps his hands through blond strands, mussing his careful coiffure, and then Bucky’s gloves when he realizes he can’t feel the silky texture beneath them.

“Off,” Bucky demands, pulling at the other man’s false jerkin, and Capitano obeys, still staggering backward until the backs of his knees hit something and he flails. Bucky pulls him back with hands fisted in his undershirt and sits him down, hard, on what turns out to be a piano bench. Bucky looms over him and shucks his own layers, tossing his collar when the captain undoes his first few buttons to reveal a triangle of skin that he immediately latches onto, nipping and sucking until the skin is flushed and threatening to bruise. It’s all Bucky can do to pull him away long enough to finish divesting himself of his clothing. His lover isn’t far behind, pants barely shoved down his hips when Bucky loses his patience and straddles him, knees on the generous padding of the bench, arms around Capitano’s neck. He hovers there, not quite sitting in his lap, and Capitano’s hands come to circle his waist.

“Tell me you want this,” Bucky commands softly.

“I want you,” the blond responds immediately, gaze possessive and greedy.

“Tell me I’m beautiful.”

“You’re gorgeous, little dove.”

“Tell me what you’ll give me.” Bucky grinds down to get his point across, relishing the hiss of breath Capitano lets out.

“Anything. Everything.” The blond’s voice is thin and strained, his grip tightening just short of pain. Bucky smiles and drops the small vial from his hand into his lover’s. Capitano brings it up to his face to examine it, eyes widening when he realizes what he’s holding. He groans and fists a hand in Bucky’s hair, gently but firmly pulling his head back to bare his neck for Capitano’s mouth. Bucky gasps at the ceiling and lets the lust wash over him, tossing his head to feel the pinprick sensation tug at his strands. When Capitano moves as if to let go, Bucky shakes his head and clamps his fist down _harder_ , he can feel the sound it draws out of the other man reverberate over his skin.

  


  


  


He doesn’t even hear the pop of the cork; barely feels Capitano shift his weight. Only notices when he feels skin-warm oil drip onto his hard cock and Capitano spread it generously over him, hand a warm, slick tunnel for Bucky to thrust up into. He almost tips over when Capitano lets go long enough to stopper the bottle again, dropping it on the floor with a faint thud—Bucky hopes vaguely that it doesn’t stain. Then Capitano’s hands are back on his body, groping and massaging like he can’t get enough, which is good, it’s great, because _Bucky_ can’t get enough. It’s on the tip of his tongue to urge his lover onward toward the main event when he feels a careful probe of his fingers. Bucky whimpers unabashedly and pushes back into the pressure, biting down on Capitano’s lip as his body gives way. Then the other man is back with two fingers, muttering a curse when Bucky takes those with only minimal resistance.

“You planned for this,” the blond husks, breaking away to pant into the humid space between them.

“I’d hoped,” Bucky murmurs. His breath hitches when Capitano’s fingers twist cleverly inside of him, twitching up into the motion. “I thought, if anywhere, you’d be at Richards’—”

“Don’t talk about our hosts when I’m about to be inside of you,” Capitano growls, but there’s no heat to it, only humor. 

Bucky chuckles and reaches down to grab at his lover’s cock. “Then silence me.”

Capitano tilts his head to the side, a question in his eyes. Bucky licks his lips and nods, gritting his teeth to keep in the noises trying to escape him when the blunt pressure at his ass grows and grows, then finally Capitano’s cockhead pops past his rim and it’s glorious, it’s relief and satisfaction and anticipation all at once. Capitano shifts his weight, braces both hands on Bucky’s waist, and the angle changes and suddenly Bucky is sliding down his cock easy as anything, like he’s made for it.

They stare at each other for a long moment when he bottoms out, hips pressed together and Bucky’s own dick trapped between them, blood-hot and aching. Capitano’s eyes are hooded, his breathing labored, and Bucky doesn’t imagine he looks any less debauched. Bucky moans and shifts into the position, twisting his hips a little to get a good feel for the length inside him. He clenches down deliberately and listens to Capitano’s sharp intake of breath; feels his muscles tense in an effort to be still. Waiting, Bucky realizes, for a signal that he’s all right to keep going. It’s a thoughtful thing to do in a carnal moment, and again Bucky has the fleeting thought that it’s too bad they can’t know who each other are.

He lifts himself up a bare inch and slides back down, tossing his hair back when it falls into his face. He tries it again, and then again with more force, grinning when it pulls a high whine out of his lover.

“Am I going to have to do all the work?” he pouts as he wiggles his hips. He braces his hands on Capitano’s shoulders and works himself up his length again, watching his lover’s face, waiting for some kind of reaction to the taunt. And he isn’t disappointed.

The only warning he gets is the feeling of Capitano’s strong hands on his hips, and then he’s being yanked _down_ while his lover surges _up_ and he flails, breathless with the sensation of sudden, bright fullness. The motion pitches him forward with a shout of surprise and pleasure, hands grasping and finding the piano keys in a discordant tangle of noise that startles them both.

“Shhh, little dove. They’ll find us,” Capitano rasps. The thought of being caught sends a shiver of excitement down Bucky’s spine and does absolutely nothing to abate the fire burning in his blood. He whimpers and moves his grip to his lover’s back, fingers digging in so hard he’s sure to leave marks there. The blond groans with it and redoubles his efforts, a reckless grin on his face even as he kisses Bucky, nipping and sucking at his shoulder. He manages to free one hand, letting Bucky set their pace, and the transition is so seamless that Bucky hardly even notices. But then clever fingers brush experimentally across one of his nipples and he bites his lip with a sharp intake of breath. Capitano seems to catch on quickly and makes another pass, pressing a thumb firmly over one nub and, when Bucky responds to that, pinches it lightly as well. Bucky can’t help but moan aloud at that, the sound spiraling up until Capitano lets go; stops tormenting him with the pleasure of it.

“I thought we agreed to be quiet,” Capitano chastises. “I suppose I’ll have to help you?” And he catches Bucky’s mouth in a kiss before gripping his other nipple, offering it a firm pinch and roll between his fingers that makes Bucky’s mouth fall open and skin light up, prickling and tingling, and he almost forgets to keep moving until Capitano jerks his hips up in gentle reminder. And then it’s all Bucky _can_ do, greedy for more. More sensation, more kisses and bites and skin on skin and the sweat pooling between them. More of this man. Just _more_.

He feels himself getting close and adds a dirty grind of his hips, determined not to beat Capitano to his crest of pleasure. Last time, in the garden, he hadn’t gotten to see his lover’s expression. It’s one of his favorite parts, to see what someone looks like in the throes of ecstacy, to know he’s brought them there, and he won’t miss it. When Capitano starts to quake between his thighs, begins to lose his rough but steady rhythm, Bucky knows he’s won.

“How do you want it, little dove?” Capitano pants. “Tell me, before it’s too late.” He grunts as he pistons his hips and Bucky nips at his lips playfully. His breathing is hard and labored and Bucky can’t wait to see him fall apart.

“In me,” he breathes. It will be a mess but it’s what he wants and damn the consequences.

Capitano groans and tries to reach for Bucky’s cock, but Bucky bats his hand away and tightens his ass. “No, my captain. Just like this. In me.” He leans close to his lover’s ear, nips it lightly, worries it between his teeth, and whispers, “Please,” as sweetly as he knows how and there, that’s it, he can feel Capitano’s muscles locking up. Bucky pulls back just enough to be able to see his lover’s face, his jaw tense and head thrown back, the sound of his pleasure vibrating in his throat but staying locked behind his teeth.

He’s beautiful.

And he can’t have recovered yet because Bucky can feel him still hard and twitching inside him, the shiver of muscles under his hands, but still Capitano slits his eyes open and reaches down. Takes Bucky’s dick in hand and uses the precome he finds there to slick the way, gripping at him and polishing the head with his thumb, still moving his hips, doing his best to brush against that spot, and then he leans in and bites at Bucky’s jaw, flicks his wrist just so and that’s it, Bucky’s gone, his own cry muffled by his lover’s eager lips.

They come down in a tangle of shaking limbs and sloppy kisses, until Capitano slips out of him with a disappointed little whimper. Bucky shivers at the sensation—not precisely his favorite, but getting there was worth it, he thinks. Except now that he’s been made aware of one discomfort, the others start to clamor for his attention: his legs are starting to cramp from kneeling, sweat is drying sticky and cold on his skin, and things are going to get a little more messy than he’d like sooner rather than later. He bites back a groan and forces himself to stand. Capitano lets him go with visible reluctance, then stands as well and goes to find his own clothes. He fishes around in his coat for a moment before coming up with not one but two kerchiefs, one of which he passes to Bucky.

Grinning at the unexpected gentility of the gesture, Bucky goes about using it to clean himself up. When he reaches between his legs, Captiano blushes and looks away, though Bucky thinks he catches him peeking a moment later. He’s looking for his collar when Capitano holds it out to him, smiling warmly. Whatever else is under that mask, Bucky thinks, that smile alone could do someone in.

“May I?”

Bucky nods, mouth dry as the other man carefully secures his collar in place, doing up the last button and plucking his tie from him. His fingers are deft in tying the knot, slipping between it and Bucky’s skin to make sure it isn’t too tight. More than anything else they’ve done, this is… intimate. Unexpected. It’s close in a way that has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with taking care of someone you feel for, and Bucky hasn’t had that in a while. He’s met Capitano two times, most of which they spent having sex. So it’s a little early to have a crush, isn’t it?

Still, he takes the time to help the other man with his costume, fastening his cloak and helping to set his hat at a rakish angle. It puts them close enough to kiss and, to his delight, Capitano steals one softly and with a smile. This is a good time to say something, right? Before they’re in any deeper; before Bucky misses his chance to say something without it being too awkward. Before they worry too much about getting caught.

“I—” he starts.

“This—” Capitano says at the same time.

Bucky shuts his mouth, gesturing for the blond to go first.

“This is… fun, right?” Capitano asks hesitantly. The way he says it is odd, like he’s asking something different from his words, but Bucky can’t think of what it might be.

“Yes,” he says immediately, because it is. That’s what makes this so confounding. He’s not sure he’s had this much fun with another member of the peerage possibly ever. Which gives him an idea. “I’d like to make it more fun, if you want.”

Capitano’s expression changes. “How?”

“I want you to guess who I am,” Bucky proposes boldly. When the other man hesitates, he rushes to add, “You needn’t tell me who you are, if you don’t want to. But we obviously have some overlap in who we know in society, and I feel you’d have a sporting chance.”

“Little dove, are you _challenging_ me?”

“If that’s how you want to think of it. You can guess once every time we meet. I won’t ever ask who you are, if you don’t wish it. And if you can guess who I am before the end of the season, I’ll give you… hmm…”

“You’ll let me call on you,” Capitano interrupts. “And you’ll accept, even if I’m the dullest and ugliest man in society.”

“I already know you aren’t either of those things.”

“The most obnoxious, then.”

“You haven’t the build to be Anthony Stark.”

That makes the blond bark out a laugh. “A good point. Still, do you agree to my terms?”

Bucky doesn’t say that he’d unmask himself right now if Capitano asked it of him. “A single outing hardly seems fair to you. It’s a rather lot of effort simply to show me off for a morning at best.”

“I suspect it would be effort well-spent,” Capitano murmurs. He says it quietly enough that it might only be for his own benefit, but Bucky hears it either way. He’s grateful that the dim light and his mask obscure the blush he feels rising in his cheeks.

“Armagnac,” Capitano declares. “At least ten years aged. That and an outing with me—will that appease your pride?”

“Yes,” Bucky says immediately, even though it means he’ll probably have to pay to import the stuff specifically. His captain has expensive taste. He glances at the kerchief he’s still holding, then tucks it smartly into one of his coat pockets. “I’ll clean this and return it to you next time we meet.”

“Holding it hostage to ensure my return?”

“Something like that,” Bucky agrees easily. He presents his cheek for a kiss before he realizes what he’s doing, but Capitano just chuckles and gives him one before going to the door and cautiously peering into the hallway outside.

He offers Bucky a broad, cheeky wink. “I look forward to beating you at our game.”

Bucky smiles, savoring the thrill that goes through him at Capitano’s words. “Then I shall look forward to losing,” Bucky replies just as Capitano slips through the door. He carefully counts to one hundred before leaving himself, going straight to a washroom to clean up better. When he thinks he looks more respectable than he does debauched, he nods to himself in the mirror and emerges, only to run into Natasha barely ten feet down the hall.

She takes one look at him and sighs gustily, looking put-upon. “You’re been with your paramour already, haven’t you?”

“Is it that obvious?”

Natasha snaps her fingers at him and gestures for him to turn around. “Your hair is a rat’s nest in the back—you may as well shout from the rooftops that you’ve had a dalliance. In someone else’s home, no less.”

“You find it just as exciting as I do,” Bucky points out, holding still while she tugs at his hair, trying to corral it into some semblance of order.

“I’m just waiting for you to get caught,” she mutters. “Then you can be the highlight of every gossip from here to Wales.”

He shrugs peaceably then cringes, chastised, when Natasha taps him firmly on the skull to remind him to hold still.

“You’ve never been so agreeable,” she says after another minute. “Especially during this time of year. You’re practically glowing.”

Bucky hums noncommittally, having just learned his lesson about not moving. 

“You like this mystery man of yours, don’t you?”

Damn. Natasha has always been too shrewd by half.

“Not enough to drop my mask.” He has to struggle to sound aloof, but he’s sure he manages.

“No, just your trousers,” Natasha snorts. Well, she’s right, after all. Finished fixing him up, she pats his shoulder to inspect his front one last time. “Well, I’m not here to judge you. I just worry that you’ll end this with hurt feelings.”

“I challenged him to find out who I am,” he offers. Then he cringes, because he knows how that sounds.

Sure enough, Natasha arcs an eyebrow. “It’s not like you to play games.”

Bucky shrugs his shoulders uncomfortably. “I didn’t want to press things on him if he wants to keep things as they are. I’m giving him all season. And I’ll say who I am at the end of it, if he guesses and he’s still wrong.”

“And if you lose interest then there’s no harm.” Natasha looks thoughtful. “I suppose I can let this slide. But you’d best not pine for him. I won’t put up with it, Lord Barnes.”

“Miss Romanoff, I have never pined a day in my _life._ It would just be poor form to start now.”

  
  



	3. Epilogue

Bucky is definitely pining.

“It’s unbecoming,” Natasha tells him, fixing one of the pins in her hair, “and I’ll disavow all knowledge of you if anyone comments on it.”

“Then why come with me in the first place?” Bucky grumbles, annoyed at being so transparent. “You could have arrived separately.”

“So that I can glean my excitement through watching you suffer, of course.” Natasha gives him an arch look and swats him with her fan. “Because I want to make sure you enjoy yourself for once. It’s a gathering at Stark’s and you _know_ it will be guaranteed entertainment.”

“If they ask us to play party games, I’m going home.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” Natasha snorts. “Besides, Tony always picks up the most interesting of the new blood. You might actually find someone bearable to talk to besides me.”

“Are you saying you no longer enjoy my company, Miss Romanoff?” Bucky places a hand over his heart. “I am shocked and hurt.”

“As if you don’t run off looking for your new paramour every time we go to a ball. I’m the one who should be offended. And if I have to play any games then so do you,” she warns him. As always, she gets in the last word, perfectly timed so that Bucky has no choice but to smile and say nothing as they approach their hosts.  
  


* * *

  
  
Natasha’s prediction about the afternoon comes true, after a fashion. The new blood are all various levels of either pretty or eccentric, from the elegant Marchioness Virginia to Doctor Banner, studying the newest surgeries in England and Austria, to a recently-returned Captain Rogers, whose stiff posture suggests that perhaps Stark picked this one up more for his beauty than his social graces. Rogers in particular is interesting to watch, because apparently Her Majesty’s Army does not teach one how to respond to flirting and if he blushes any harder his head might pop off. Bucky might be guilty of sending a few more people his way just to see his reaction.

“We should play Blind-Man’s Bluff,” Stark declares after tea. Bucky casts Natasha a meaningful look, which she blithely ignores.

“Children's games? Really, Tony?” Marchioness Virginia sighs good-naturedly, fan lazily waving through the air. “You didn’t get to run around enough in croquet?”

“He’s upset that he didn’t win,” someone else pipes in. “Anthony hates to lose.”

“I just thought it would be a good way to aid in digestion,” Tony says with exaggerated dignity.

“And because you cheat at it,” Natasha adds dryly. That makes Bucky bark out a laugh, even though he knows it’s not true--Tony has a knack for remembering the details, and it makes him exceptionally good at any guessing or memory game.

“Just to prove that this isn’t for the sake of my own pride, I won’t take first turn as the blind man. We’ll give that honor to…”

“Barnes,” Natasha volunteers immediately. She also, to his irritation, refuses to be cowed by his continued glaring.

“Excellent!” Tony crows gleefully. “No time like the present!”

Well, he can’t decline _now_. People are already getting up and moving to another part of the garden to play, Tony in the lead and knotting together kerchiefs of a blindfold. He submits as gracefully as he can manage, letting his host place him in the middle of the circle of people and tie the cloth around his eyes. 

He keeps an ear out for Natasha’s voice, determined to catch her if he can, while he spins around and everyone counts down for him. At ten, he hears them all scatter, running this way and that as he lunges after targets. As foolish as he must look, he has to admit that he’d forgotten how fun these childish games could be. There’s something thrilling about having to use his other senses to catch other guests, fingers just brushing past a jacket or a shawl, and the laughter of the others is infectious.

When stumbling on one direction doesn’t work out, he turns and cocks his head, feinting to one side and then stilling, listening for the tell-tale swish of grass under feet--There!

He can hear his new target skip away and turns to give chase… Only to run smack into someone else. Laughing, he grabs for them quickly, determined not to let them escape. But the person stands perfectly still, not even trying to avoid his grasp.

“Got someone!” he cries. 

“Now guess who it is!” he hears Tony call back from somewhere behind him. Someone else immediately shushes the other man, laughingly chastising him for breaking the rules of the game. As though Bucky couldn’t already tell he’s not holding Tony. Whoever it is in front of him is wearing a suit and their shoulders are broad, so they’re distinctly male, but that’s where the similarities end. This person is much too tall to be Tony--Bucky can already feel it--and besides, Tony’s never been this quiet in his life.

“Face,” he demands, carefully going through the names and features of the men he remembers joining the circle. He reaches up so whoever it is can guide Bucky’s hand to the man’s face. What he feels under his fingers first is the smooth skin of a clean-shaven jaw, tracing across to soft lips. The man steps closer, until they’re nearly chest-to-chest, and Bucky swallows hard at the familiar scent of him. He thinks he knows who this is, but the name he wants to use isn’t the one anyone else will expect.

“You owe me a drink, little dove.”

Faintly, Bucky can hear someone calling out about the rules of the game, but the sound of his heartbeat drowns out their actual words. Fingers suddenly trembling, he reaches up to fumble with the knots of the blindfold. Steady hands cover his, thick arms reaching behind his head to assist.

“Allow me.”

Bucky keeps his eyes lowered as the world floods back in, gaze firmly set on a familiar jawline and a smile that’s been haunting his dreams. He looks up slowly, taking in a slightly crooked nose, bright blue eyes, and blond hair. His mouth goes dry.

“Hello, James Barnes,” Captain Rogers grins. Bucky has to resist the urge to kiss this man in full view of the party.

He takes a deep breath. 

“Please, call me Bucky.”  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Find us on tumblr [@crankyfractal](https://crankyfractal.tumblr.com/) and [@sablessx](https://sablessx.tumblr.com/)!
> 
> HUGE thanks again to [coldwinterrose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coldwinterrose/) for her amazing help as a beta, and also to the MCU Kink Bang mods for a wonderful event! And of course always a giant thanks to you, the reader. <3


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